Fear
by SpecialAgentZiva
Summary: He'd had a bad feeling from the beginning. Later, he'd wished that he'd listened to that feeling. But the world kept on turning, while blood ran down her forehead and fear ran through his heart.
1. This Mission

**A/N: Honestly, I'm not sure where this story is going to go so I guess we'll all see. I realize that this is short but... it'll get longer in later chapters. Anyway, I own nothing.**

_He'd had a bad feeling from the beginning._

_This mission wasn't going to be like every other one before it, and he was right._

_He wished it wasn't true, it hadn't happened._

_Whether they'd live or die in the moments after didn't matter._

_What could become of them, as a pair, meant the world._

_

* * *

_

Right from the moment he'd heard the words "Dinozzo! David! Check out the warehouse," he'd had a bad feeling. He couldn't place it - why his heart had sunk, why his stomach was churning sickeningly, why he wanted her to stay behind. But he'd picked up his gear anyway, and walked without a word into the elevator. Into the car.

He'd actually let her drive. She'd looked at him oddly, but he hadn't said anything.

The warehouse had been empty, at first glance. Tony remembered keeping her close by his side, trying not to let the bad feeling allow fear to creep into his voice. There hadn't been a single person in the building besides them, and even then he'd kept his hand on his gun.

He was starting to relax when she finally looked at him and frowned. "Tony?"

"What? Ziva?" he asked, though she only answered by pointing at a large, partially open crate.

"We should make sure there is no bomb," she suggested. "Do you not see a wire?"

If it was a bomb, definitely it had been a sloppy job. A small, blue wire was just visible under the lid of the cardboard box. He stared for a few seconds, his heart beating, before he hoisted himself up on the larger box underneath. His hands shook as he reached up to get a better look, but was nearly pulled backwards as Ziva took his left hand in order to get his attention.

"Tony, it may be armed."

"And if it's armed, we'll have to deactivate it," he pointed out, frowning.

"Then I am coming with you," she declared, copying his frown.

"No!" Tony couldn't explain why he felt so suddenly possessed to keep her away. Something just wasn't right, and he couldn't put his finger on it. "Look, Ziva, just stay there. Please."

Ziva opened her mouth to argue but closed it at the sincerity in her words. She simply stepped back, let go, and watched him carefully.

He flipped the lid of the crate carefully, eyes widening at what he saw. Wires, running across and in all directions. This, however, wasn't what caught his attention.

Amongst the wire was a timer, and as he stared, the number went down second by second. His heart sunk.

0:05… 0:04…

Obviously, there would be no time to disarm something so complicated. Without another thought, he turned, and leapt.

His arms wrapped around Ziva as he catapulted across the room. He felt each second tick by as they fell, and just as her head skimmed the floor, there was a deafening explosion.

Later, he wouldn't remember much. But now, breathing purely hot air, and feeling each piece of shrapnel and broken building, all he could do was hold Ziva as tight as he could for fear that she would be ripped out of his arms and die.

They hit the floor with a crash, and he felt the world fade away.

Perhaps it was for the better, or for the worse.

But for now, all he could do was hope.

* * *

_Later he'd wished that he'd listened to the feeling._

_The lights were out, but he knew that the world kept turning._

_Turning, while blood ran down her forehead,_

_And fear ran through his heart._


	2. New Panic

**A/N: Chapter 2 for you guys. I'm glad you like it. It was meant to be suspenseful and all that jazz. c: I did, however, miscategorize it at first. So, if anyone saw that it said "supernatural/hurt/comfort," it's not. Supernatural was supposed to be suspense. So.. well... here you go. Read, and enjoy. :) FYI, I own nothing.**

_The pain and the blackness and the fear -_

_All at once, it was too much for him._

_He could only hope it would be better for her._

_But he knew it would be hours before anyone missed them._

_Maybe they were never really missed at all.

* * *

_

The pounding in his head was horrible. He could feel each part of his body screaming at him, as though he'd been walking, step-by-step, through a gas-based fire. And he may as well have, considering what had happened before he'd blacked out.

In his arms, there was a weight of some kind. His eyelids felt strangely heavy, though he managed to crack them, if only ever-so-slightly. It was dark, impossibly dark, besides the flickering of an occasional, still-burning piece of ember. His shirt was sticky and wet. If he didn't know any better, he'd assume that a pipe had burst above them and was leaking water.

No, surely his shirt was stained with blood.

But was it his own, even?

He shifted his gaze as best as he could through the painful slits, looking at the weight in his arms. Though it was dark, it was unmistakably a woman that he held. Tony almost smirked at the situation - trust him to end up dying with a woman in his arms.

She was limp but still breathing - he could feel her slow, but steady, heartbeat transferring from her chest to his. He stared, wondering simply how they'd gotten to where they were. The pain told him they'd been through far more than a night out after a few drinks.

Carefully, he attempted to lift his arm, and was surprised by the ability to move it, if only a little bit. He could feel cuts criss-crossing it, though it didn't seem to be broken or damaged in some overly painful way. Tony breathed slowly, grateful that he would have the use of at least one working arm. The space around them - dark, crumbling, but showing them no obvious way out.

The next step he took was an attempt to move his neck, which worked to his satisfaction. He turned his head, moving his gaze back to the woman in his arms. He couldn't place her, or what had happened before… whatever had happened.

She shifted in his arms and her head moved only enough for him to see her face. He looked carefully, scrutinizing her face in attempt to identify her. And as her hair slowly fell out of her face, he felt his heart sink.

And he remembered.

He remembered the bad feeling, the case, the warehouse. He remembered how each moment felt like a year and how he'd forced her to stay on ground level. He remembered the timer - and the sinking of his heart. And worst of all, he remembered jumping, grabbing her and trying to protect her.

The bomb blast itself he couldn't remember, but he knew it had happened. Loud, deafeningly loud, he'd imagined it would be. And it only had brought pain to him and undoubtedly her.

This brought him a new panic. Tony bit his lip and scrutinized her face even more. If he was feeling pain, she surely was feeling the same, perhaps even worse. He lifted his arm slowly to brush back the remaining bits of hair that covered her face, cringing at the stabbing pain of each movement, as the individual cuts stretched and already screaming muscles resisted.

A trickle of blood was visible on her forehead, though most of it was dry. A little bit of the blood was obviously fresh and still coming, if only slowly, coming from an overly obvious, but small, cut across her forehead. His heart sunk even further. Had she been knocked into a coma?

Ziva shifted again and he pulled her tighter against him, using the arm that was not trapped under her body. She mumbled something he couldn't make out but smiled anyway; perhaps this was a good sign. Maybe she wasn't comatose.

He would move her even more if not for fear that she'd broken something and he would make it worse. The blood on her forehead was an indication that she'd been hurt as much or perhaps even more so. He could only guess the pain she'd be in until she awoke and spoke to him - if she would at all.

Maybe it was his fault. He should have known better than to go at all.

And now… they were trapped in a bombed building, damaged and painful.

Ziva began to cough loudly, her body moving painfully with each cough. Her eyes opened suddenly, staring wildly at him as she coughed. Each part of her body was screaming, cut and swollen in so many places. She couldn't be sure if her legs were broken or not, though her left would only respond with a searing pain when she attempted to move it.

"Hey," he said, his voice coming out raspy and quiet. "Ziva, are you okay?"

She stared at her for a moment with no particular recognition, but, as he watched, who he was obviously clicked in. She opened her mouth to speak but found no voice.

He stared, confused and concerned. "Ziva," he whispered. "Please tell me you're okay."

Ziva just took a deep breath before attempting to speak again, this time actually finding some of her voice. If his voice was raspy, however, hers was worse - only partially understandable, but at least she could speak. "Hurts," she told him. "You?"

"Me too…" he replied, relieved that she'd said something. At least she wasn't comatose or anything like that. It might just kill him if she was.

They laid still for a minute before he attempted to move, his joints screaming and his legs on fire. But he tried it anyway, moving ever-so-slowly and mechanically into a sitting position. His shirt, stained with dried blood, hardly helped the situation.

And as he reached the sitting point, he heard her scream.

* * *

_A million lines went through his head that day._

_Apologies and prayers and screams._

_It was like some horror movie, but he was living it._

_They could only hope to make it out alive._

_But how could they?_


	3. Expecting Survivors

**A/N: This is short. I had a bit of a mental block I guess. But it'll get longer. In the mean time, you should read 'Get Out Alive.' Yes, I'm advertising a story inside a story. Isn't that sad? ;)**

**Enjoy. I don't own anything.**

_Her scream, his scream, her pain, his pain._

_It was all the same at the time._

_He remembers every word and every thought._

_He remembers choking on those words and thoughts_

_Wishing it all away._

_

* * *

_

He heard her scream and he felt it and he could have screamed because it wasn't like Ziva to scream. She was his warrior. She could take any pain, any sight - or so he'd thought till now. But as his gaze shifted to her, he realized why she'd screamed.

Tears were running down her face. He could barely bare to look at her. She already had enough scars - she didn't deserve any of this. He'd take all of her pain if it only mean that she was exempt from the torture he knew both of them felt at that moment.

It had been a bad idea to sit up, he realized. She'd tried to copy him, lifting herself carefully. But she'd screamed for the pain, far worse than his. He'd never believe that she'd screamed otherwise unless he saw it for himself.

Her leg - if you could call it that. It had taken so much damage. When she'd tried to lift it, the pain had been unbearable. Even he would have crumbled under the pain.

She would have smiled if he'd actually said that, and if they'd been in another place, another time. He couldn't take any of the pain she'd been through before.

Her left leg seemed to be ripped to shreds. Shrapnel was stuck in her leg in many places, with cuts slicing it. Her foot was ripped up to the point that it was surely unrecognizable.

Now, if anything, would be the time to call an ambulance. But he knew before he reached for his cell phone that it had been ripped from his body - as had his gun - and most likely crushed by the rubble.

Thankfully, Ziva had stopped screaming almost immediately. He lay back down and pulled her to him, cringing at her pain. He'd thought that covering her had provided protection - but obviously, not enough.

God, he felt so bad for her.

"Ziva, oh God, Ziva," he whispered, feeling a familiar pain as his own tears fell into the cuts across his face. He'd been lucky not to hit his head as she had, but as far as he knew, he was in just as bad of trouble as she.

At least he could still walk. But he wouldn't leave her. Not here, not now.

Not ever.

"Tony," she replied, breathing slowly as an attempt to stop the wracking coughs that she knew would soon be coming. "I'm… sorry. My fault."

"Your fault? How is this your fault?" Tony asked, staring at her wildly. She hadn't planted the bomb. She hadn't sent them to the death trap.

"Didn't… protect you. We knew there was a bomb," she pointed out. "Should have stopped you. Or gone with you."

"Hey, I made you stay, remember?" he asked her, relieved to hear that her voice was becoming stronger.

At least she'd have her voice, amongst everything else.

Ziva shook her head painfully at his words. "Don't remember much. Still, sorry."

She didn't remember much? Wasn't that bad? Or had they said that it was common in severe trauma victims, back when Gibbs had been blasted to hell and back?

"Well… I'm sure someone will find us soon," he declared, trying hard not to show the fear in his wavering voice.

They were stuck here. Embers smouldering in their faces, pieces of the building littering the ground around them. Gibbs - they needed him now more than ever. If anyone had seen the bomb blast (probably, the destruction had taken down most of their side of the building) - let alone heard it - there should be ambulances and fire trucks.

They should be found.

But what if no one was expecting survivors?

* * *

_He wasn't lost, and neither was she._

_Did that mean they could never be found?_

_With each breath was a fight -_

_He could still see the spark in her eyes as she fought -_

_But how long could they fight?_


	4. Control Yourself

**A/N: Another chapter in the seemingly useless story. Oh no! How will Batman and Batgirl get out of this? I actually have no idea yet, but we'll see. This is pretty much a surprise for me to. I'm honestly not the kind of writer who plans, I just... do. So, read and enjoy!**

**I don't own anything.**

_What happened now would be critical._

_He didn't know how long they'd have left._

_He didn't know if they would ever fight, side-by-side, again,_

_Or what would even become of them in the end._

_And so the world hung in its balance,_

_As tears escaped his eyes and blood escaped her wounds._

_

* * *

_

"Ziva. Zee," Tony spoke suddenly, shifting his arms gently and as painlessly as he could. He still felt as if every part of him was on fire, only keeping his head knowing that he was oh-so-lucky. So lucky he hadn't ended up like Ziva was now. She probably would never be in the field again.

Oh God. What would happen to the NCIS team then? Would they fall apart? Would she leave, and never speak to him again?

_Control yourself, DiNozzo,_ he thought, still attempting to get an oblivious Ziva's attention. This time he moved his hand cautiously down the side of her face until she looked up at him, puzzled.

"Mmm? Tony, what?" she asked, slightly annoyed at him for having moved her (if only a little bit) and pulled her out of her thoughts. At the same time, it was nice, in some strange way, that he'd cared just enough to check on her. If that was what he'd planned anyway.

Well, at least she'd replied. He hadn't exactly had anything else to say to her, besides 'Ziva. Zee.' He could choose to say one of a million things, really, if he so wanted to. But none of those million things would really mean anything right now, not in their current predicament.

If they only had a while left to live… then why waste it saying useless things?

_Stop it, DiNozzo, you're being an idiot. Of course Gibbs will find us. Alive._

_"_Tony? _What?_" Ziva asked again, more insistently this time. She looked at him, concerned more than annoyed now. He'd been known just to say things that bugged her just because he wanted to speak. If he was doing that _now_, surely Gibbs would have no objections if she killed Tony herself. That man was so juvenile.

Secretly, she knew that she gave him too little credit. If it wasn't her job to keep him on edge, maybe she'd let him know what he really was more than once in a yellow… no, that was wrong… once in a blue moon. That was the saying, was it not?

She was getting annoyed at him. Fine. Tony shifted more, though soon wished he hadn't as she gave a small gasp of pain. Each movement he made would affect her - why didn't he remember that whenever he was uncomfortable? After all, he was almost as uncomfortable and almost in as much pain as she.

"Tony!" One more time, she persisted. If he'd just speak and tell her what was on his mind, she could stop pestering him!

Of course, Anthony DiNozzo was never an easy one to get to speak. He'd dance around the topic, she knew. He didn't _ever_ stay in the same place.

"Ziva?" he asked, leaning down to look at her. It aggravated her that he was pretending he hadn't noticed her raspy, but loud enough replies. Perhaps he really was playing with her, trying to annoy her. He could be trying to remind her of their normal banter, but she didn't need that _right then_.

She rolled her eyes at him, her voice having an even more obvious edge to it now. "You spoke. What, Tony?"

"Honestly? I don't know." Tony grinned at her, the childish grin she'd seen so many times spreading across his handsome face. His eyes seemed to sparkle, though she still couldn't understand him.

He was so happy.

So damned happy when they were stuck there, both crippled in pain. He could probably walk - his feet weren't even near the state that hers were in - but hadn't. How could he be so happy, smiling?

_Damn it, DiNozzo._

Ziva knew she needed to calm down, she knew that being in her current state of mind and swinging back and forth between moods would be bad for them in the end. But how could she help it with a companion like hers?

"Ziva?" came his voice again. She nearly rolled her eyes but stopped herself in time, forcing a small smile for him.

"What, Tony?"

"I don't know," he replied again, his laughing voice suddenly turning serious. "I don't know. I don't know what to do or what to say or even if we're gonna get the hell out of here."

"I don't know what's gonna happen to us. I hate this, Ziva. Damn it, this is so stupid. We're supposed to be catching criminals, not sitting here in this hellhole!"

She stared at him, unsure more than ever now.

Maybe she'd been right from the first moment.

There was no reason left to smile.

* * *

_She would wish, later, that she'd reassured him._

_His faith was hers and her faith was his._

_But she only sat in silence, staring, _

_Tears streaked across his face,_

_And blood streaked across her own._

**A/N: Yes, I realize I made a reference to blood twice. :'o**


	5. Just You And Me

**A/N: Hey, all you people. :) I've been wanting to update this for a while. And… well, here it is. Sorry for the very long delay. I've gotten caught up in writing for Sherlock and well, let me tell you, this fic can be a bit frustrating. The italicized words can be hard to write without sounding completely out of place.**

**But that's it for my rantish thing. I don't own NCIS, and please enjoy.**

_Two hearts beat as one that day_

_The lines they'd worked so hard to save_

_Broken, destroyed, gone forever -_

_Lost as their lives slipped through their fingers_

* * *

A wise man once told her there was nothing to fear but fear itself. She'd believed him for most of her life, carried this advice with her, lived by it. It allowed her to push herself further and further into everything she did, it urged her to work harder to achieve her goals. As long as she kept that in mind, she would be alright. She would live, because she had no fear of fear.

This was different.

Fear gripped her heart as she lay on the charred ground, her leg screaming in unimaginable amounts of pain. It was a feat in itself that she was still conscious. A part of her wished she wasn't, the same small part that wished she'd gone deaf by the explosion. If she was deaf, she wouldn't hear Tony's words. She couldn't hear the panic or the fear or the desperation they held.

But she was not deaf, and she flinched as he vented. Her eyes were locked on his. He'd just destroyed her rule to live by and confirmed what she hadn't wanted to think about. There was much to fear. Death didn't frighten her. At least not her death - but his. His dying would rip her apart.

Unless… unless they died together. But she couldn't let herself think about it. Gibbs would come get them. He had to.

"How did we get here, anyway?" Tony's voice cracked with desperation. If he'd had any excess fluids to spare, he might've started crying. "I knew-I knew something bad was going to happen. Damn it, I could feel it! And you know what Gibbs says, right? You know what he says?"

His eyes were wide with desperation and he actually reached out, gently shaking Ziva. She hissed in pain but said nothing. "He says trust your gut, Ziva. And because I didn't, we're here. He's not going to find us. I don't even think he knows we're gone!"

Tony's words dissolved into a fit of quiet gasps and near-sobs. His grip on her shoulders strengthened, but he didn't shake her again. He'd heard the hiss of pain, only chosen to ignore it. Because, well, what did they have left now?

They were alone. Alone and dying in a damn abandoned warehouse in God-knows-where. And if they weren't dying, they sure as hell would be soon.

"Tony," Ziva's soft voice was nearly inaudible. When he didn't look at her, she raised her hand, ignoring the white-hot flash of pain, and laid it carefully on his cheek. More insistently, she repeated, "Tony."

Instead of voicing his reply, he gave a small hum. A half-smile broke on her face. It was something, and that was better than nothing. Slowly, she traced circles on his cheek with her thumb. He turned to look at her now, slightly perplexed, eyes clouded with pain and sadness.

"Tony, you need to calm down. Gibbs will find us," she tried to put as much certainty in her voice as she possibly could. With every passing minute her doubts were growing, but he didn't need to know that.

"And how do you know that?"

"It's… it's Gibbs."

It wasn't much of an answer, but it's all she could say. He gave an exasperated sigh and nuzzled his head into her hand. She frowned at this action but forced down the urge to move her hand away. Seeing his emotions like this was odd, even now that they were trapped together, surrounded by rubble and handicapped by pain.

They lapsed into a silence that seemed to stretch forever, though it really only lasted about a minute. Near the end of that forever-minute, Tony looked back up at her, pained green eyes meeting neutral brown. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it quickly, closing his eyes as if he was trying to find the perfect words. When he didn't speak again, Ziva took it upon herself. "Tony…"

"You seem to like saying my name," he commented without opening his eyes. A sarcastic smile took its place on his face.

"No more than you like to say mine. Which, incidentally, seems to be a lot."

"It has a nice ring to it?"

"Right, because that's why you kept saying my name."

"No," his eyes sprung open now, tone dead serious, sarcastic smile fading. "I wanted to know that you were alive, Ziva. Because… because Gibbs isn't here. I know you're hoping he's going to save us. I know we have to keep thinking he'll be here, and I know we can't give up. But look around, Ziva.

It's just you and me now."

* * *

_No fear of dying in her heart,_

_She was always meant for a hero's death_

_But with anger and desperation ripping them apart_

_Her only choice was to save him,_

_Keep him alive with her last breath -_

_The same way he tried to do for her._

**A/N: This leaves us the question: if she is refuses to die until she knows he is saves, and he will do the same for her, will they save themselves this way? **


	6. Hallucinating?

**A/N: Well. This is actually one of the last chapters. There is one or two more to go after this. I have to say, thanks to all of you who've read, reviewed, favorited and alerted this story over the long time it's taken me to write it. I appreciate it. :) I'm hoping to start updating and finishing the rest of my long-since-updated stories as well, just on the chance that you happen to read those as well. But either way, please enjoy. I don't own NCIS.**

_He was always stronger than most,_

_And yet she was ever stronger_

_But as her skin paled and her time ran out_

_The question was no longer of strength, but survival

* * *

_

"It's just you and me."

The words seemed to echo and magnify in the tension-filled silence that passed between them. He hadn't meant the words in the way that they sounded, but surely everything sounds more personal when you're injured or dying together. Minutes passed though each excruciating second felt like hours in their world. The pain began to return in the absence of something else to keep his mind on. He gritted his teeth against it, willing it to return to a dull ache. Pain was surprisingly easy to forget when there were other things to concentrate on.

"Ziva?" he asked quietly, slowly raising his hand to cover the one on his cheek. She didn't make a sound at first, only twitched. Tony sighed and pulled her hand away from his face, absently threading it in his. "Ziva, are you alright?"

"Yes, Tony," she replied, her voice a bit more raspy than he remembered. "I'm tired is all. We've been blown up, pain sets my body on fire when I move, and we haven't eaten or had anything to drink since God knows when. So I'm tired."

'And I've had enough of this,' the unspoken words hung between them. Nodding slowly, Tony let go of her hand and instead put his arm gently around her, as carefully as he could without disturbing her injuries or his own. He allowed his own eyes to close, allowed himself to escape from the world. However, even as unconsciousness reached for him, he took a second to whisper, "Good bye," just on the case that they would never wake up again.

Just in case he'd never see those brown eyes. After all, it wasn't as if he hadn't noticed the loss of blood. She had been growing steadily paler, though he'd been trying to ignore this, and he was sure he looked much the same. Most injuries had stopped bleeding altogether or were reduced to sluggish red trails but others persisted, draining their body of the only remaining lifeline. Couple this with their lack of fluids or solids and their chances were quite slim.

He dreamt of another time, another place. A place where they were happy, healthy, and definitely alive. In the minds of others, it was in no way an extravagant dream. There were no dim lighting, no ball dance floors, no million dollars. None of that. Instead, he dreamt of the squadron and his 'family.' Abby, Ziva, Gibbs, McGee, Duck - all of them, altogether where they belonged.

Tony had no grasp of how long he'd been sleeping, but when he awoke he was grasping for his dream. If given a choice, he wanted to die with that image. And he was well aware that their chances were becoming slimmer and slimmer with each passing second. His own limbs either felt deadened or sent a white-hot flash of pain whenever he moved. Surely neither was a good sign, though he was starting to think he preferred the numbness. It was odd, not feeling your own limbs, but it was better than the pain that forced him to grit his teeth together and caused his head to pound.

"Ziva?" he called softly. His tongue was beginning to feel like sandpaper. How long had they laid in the rubble? How long had they been here? More importantly, how long did they have left? Shuddering at the thought of his partner's death, he raised a careful hand to her cheek. She was looking paler than ever. Her brown hair contrasted to her skin and made her look positively ghostly. Normally he liked the contrast but this… this was eery, this wasn't right at all.

"Ziva?" he tried again, tapping her cheek softly. She didn't move. There wasn't even a whimper or any sound at all from her mouth and she didn't stir under his hand. Panic gripped his heart. He moved his hand from her face to her chest, well aware of the pain and the fact that, yes, if she was awake, he'd be a dead man for the location of his hand. He was desperately searching for her heartbeat (it hadn't even occurred to him to grasp her wrist) and amongst that the rise and fall of her chest.

For a moment, there was no movement under his hand. He tensed in fear but relaxed as her chest expanded for air. It seemed slightly forced, as though she was perhaps struggling. This wasn't good. She was in worse condition than he'd thought. All the time he'd spent ranting about Gibbs, all the time he'd spent arguing over everything, he'd been oblivious to her. Well, not entirely true; he'd been aware, he just hadn't let it register. He hadn't let himself fathom the possible outcomes.

"Ziva!" One more time, just to be sure. Her eyes didn't open at all. At least she was breathing - that would be good enough for now. He wanted desperately to help her but how could he? With no phone and about zero knowledge in the medical field, anything he did would probably just make everything worse. It was terrifying, really, to think that he could do nothing. She might just die in his grasp and he wouldn't be able to help her.

She'd been through enough, hadn't she? How did she deserve this of all things? But then… maybe it was more merciful, in a way. After all, she'd been in far more pain than he, and that was saying something considering the wounds on his own body. She couldn't have even gotten up if she'd tried. Unconsciousness would take her away from the pain, perhaps even allow her dreams like his own. He smiled a bit at the thought that she'd be as happy as he had been, imagining the team as they'd last saw them.

Sighing, he let his head fall back onto the ground below them. He was still panicked, yes, still desperate and terrified but he knew of his own uselessness. Maybe a course in basic first aid and procuring a first aid kit would be the best thing to do if they got out of this. If it meant saving their lives, he'd do it.

Tony breathed out slowly and let his eyes slide closed, his hand falling limp of Ziva's body. He focussed solely on the act of breathing, mentally praying that Gibbs would get there soon. He couldn't be sure how long he'd been there when a yell startled his eyes open. He looked around, shocked at first. Surely Ziva didn't have the strength to yell like that. When he found no source, he lay his head back down. Hallucinating, maybe?

"Call an ambulance! Call the fire department! Call whatever damn thing you need to get them out of here!"

The voice. He recognized it. His eyes jolted open and he wanted to scream back, scream their location and their thanks, but his voice would not comply. So instead he just smiled and whispered, "Zi, they've found us. We're gonna live."

Her still unmoving body suggested otherwise, but he had to believe it. He had to.

* * *

_Terror mingled with joy and again with pain_

_As they lay entangled on the floor_

_His mind screaming for her_

_Praying for her to open her eyes_

_Lest she never would again_


	7. Hope For The Hopeless

**A/N: Soo... an update for this. Finally, huh? Well, I hope you enjoy this. It kind of completely veered off from where I thought it would go, so it might just be as surprising for you as it was for me. Please enjoy. :) I hope to finish this soon, but you should know by now... I'm an unpredictable procrastinator.**

**I don't own NCIS. Reviews are loved, by the way.**

_They say life flashes before your eyes_

_Just as you're about to die;_

_But how is memory distinguishable from reality_

_When all you can see is pain?_

* * *

"Tony…?" her words came out a whisper, barely audible; her voice itself was raspy. It felt as thought it had been years since she'd even seen water, let alone tasted it. And the world felt so damn far away - she'd reach for it and it would shrink back, just skirting her reach. She wasn't even sure if this was reality. Certainly it wasn't anything like what she remembered or _thought_ she remembered. Normally reality had her _in_ it, not watching it go by as it was.

And certainly reality wasn't so unpredictable. The scenes changed with each heartbeat. It felt as though she was watching her own life, but detached from her body. The feelings that accompanied these memories just tingled on the edge of her mind, but refused to break the mould of… of whatever this was. She nearly cried out when Tony's face first appeared in her mind, followed by images she couldn't even be sure were real. It was all going by so fast, blurring together…

Was she dying? It was certainly something to consider. Maybe this was the whole life flashing thing, the life-changing moment before death. Unsuccessfully attempting to shake her head, she decided her thoughts weren't even making sense in this sort of twilight-zone. She could only hope to get out of here before things _really_ started to meld together.

On the outside world, things were not going so well. Tony was still desperately trying to capture his partner's attention, even shaking her once, despite the pain he knew it would bring both her and himself. But he was so desperate to rouse her. They were going to get out of here, weren't they? She ought to wake up for him, then. She ought to open her beautiful eyes, put on her determined face, and get ready to leave.

Because that's just what they were going to do, right? Leave. Leave this place behind, and live to tell the story.

He shuddered. He wasn't sure he'd ever want to share any story of this place. He didn't even want to acknowledge anything had happened. Surely if he put his mind to it, he could imagine them both out of the wreckage, right? _Wrong._

Still, he had to hope. For both of their sakes, considering she wasn't doing much on her own at that moment. It scared the hell out of him; what would he do if she died in his arms? What would he do if (_oh, God, oh, God, please, no_) she took her last shuddering breath, and finally stopped fighting?

She's spent her whole life fighting, he knew. Fighting just about everything: her father, her life, other soldiers, other countries, other people. He almost smiled at the memories of her fighting to preserve the warrior part of her, and that tiny smile really did bloom into existence at the thought of her changing despite herself. It hurt to use the muscles on his face but… if it had to do with her, then he'd have to suffice.

"Tony! Ziva! We're gonna get you out!"

A voice pulled him out of his thoughts and his smile dropped, eyes widening substantially. So he hadn't been hallucinating, then? That, or he was _still_ hallucinating. Tony bit his lip. He had to stay strong, had to keep hoping. He forced himself to believe it was Gibbs, or McGee, or even Abby - anyone who could help them out.

The wail of an ambulance sounded in the not-so-far-off distance, and he felt that hope actually begin to spread through him. It was like a numbing solution, a medicine one might find at a doctors' or dentists' office. The few parts he _could_ feel were blurred at the back of his mind, promising him so many things. He'd get out. She'd get out. They'd live, be happy; he'd finally open himself up to her, completely, and utterly. They'd be happy together. Gibbs wouldn't give a damn because he wouldn't _let_ him give a damn.

It would be perfect. If - if only they could hold on. Tony gritted his teeth and forced himself to think better of things. The numbing returned, albeit slowly, as he forced himself to concentrate more on the possibility of living and less on the equal possibility of death. The wail of the ambulance (or fire truck? police car? he couldn't be sure) drew louder, signalling it was getting closer. His heart lifted a bit, and he whispered to Ziva, "We're gonna get out, Zee."

He wasn't even sure if his words actually reached her. His voice was dry, raspy, weak; nothing like the normal strong, charming tone he was proud of pulling off. Really, he wasn't _anything_ normal at that moment. He wasn't obsessing over his looks, women, cases, or even perfection his charm - none of that mattered just then, did it?

_Maybe near-death experiences really do change people_, he mused, but somehow he doubted it. He'd have to see for himself, then, when they finally left this place. _We're actually gonna leave… Ziva… We're getting out of here… I can't… I can't believe it…_

"Tony?" the familiar voice screamed at him, perhaps closer this time. He actually recognized it this time. _Gibbs. _He'd never been happier to see (or, to be more accurate, _hear_) the silver-haired man. He had an unmistakeable urge to embrace his boss, but that was obviously out of the question, as he couldn't lift his arms if he tried, and he couldn't actually be sure where Gibbs was. _Probably still behind the wreckage… trying to get in…_

Sighing, Tony buried his face in Ziva's hair and tightened his hold on her. If he had any fluids left to spare, he might've cried. Instead, he breathed in her scent (what was once so unmistakably _her_ was now blood, metal, dirt… and yet still he loved it, because it was her, it was really her) before pulling back to look at her. That's when it really hit him: something was certainly off.

Using the last of his energy, he moved so he could get a careful view of her face. He moved a hand to grip her wrist, now remembering that it was, in fact, a pulse point, and was not really surprised by the slow pulse. He was, however, shocked, and horrified, by what came next.

She breathed in a rattling breath, and breathed it out, normal as could be. The problem? She didn't draw another breath.

Right in front of him, her breathing ceased.

And her heart stopped.

* * *

_She left him, alone, bleeding, dying._

_Perhaps she didn't mean to - perhaps she did._

_He couldn't be sure, but now, he could hardly hope, either._

_Hope for the hopeless, it seemed._

_And so he waited, with baited breath,_

_For the world to cease,_

_For his own heart to stop._


	8. Too Late?

**A/N: I'm not sure if I like this chapter or not, so your reviews will be loved. This is likely the second last chapter, unless my ideas decide to run away like it normally does. :p Anyway, please enjoy; I don't own NCIS.**

_They'd gotten so far,_

_Only to fall so hard._

_Nothing mattered anymore,_

_Not to him - not to the world -_

_The world had died with her._

* * *

_Her heart stopped. Oh, God, her heart really stopped - she's not breathing - not moving - how could she - somebody help - ambulance - she's gotta leave - her heart - not breathing - not breathing - not -_

He'd lost it. All of it.

His mind, first of all - he'd always joked that he lost it years ago, but just then he _really_ felt as though he was lying there without it. The screaming in his head begged to differ, but he didn't care. Any and all hope had left him; she _was_ the embodiment of his hopes, his dreams. His future rested all on her. How could she not see that? How could she just leave him like that, when he needed her so badly?

He was panicking, he knew. As a federal agent, he'd been trained in many things, and calming down victims or witnesses was one of those things. Now, however, he realized just how futile those techniques were. No matter how hard he tried to focus on the possibility that an ambulance _might_ reach them in time, the utter dread continued to increase, clouding his mind. His senses all screamed at him at once, smell announcing the metallic blood in the air, taste informing him that _yes,_ the bleeding in his mouth had started again, touch reinforcing the blood loss as his fingers slipped on her soaked arms. But worst of all was sound.

Of all things, he was used to hearing her. Maybe he could smell her, see her, feel her presence, but he'd always been partial to her voice. Even lying together, both badly wounded, he'd most groped for his hearing. As long as he could hear her breath, no matter how ragged it may be, he knew he'd be alright. Now… now there was no breath, and certainly no heartbeat under his finger tips.

So yes, he was a wreck.

Now that he'd forgotten his hope, the pain was coming back full force. Though he was hardly moving, even breathing brought stabbing pains that caused his vision to blank for seconds at a time. If he could've hyperventilated, that would've been the perfect time. His breathing was becoming as jagged as Ziva's had been.

He tried desperately to cling to something, _anything._ A loud _clang_ sounded off to his left and he turned curiously, though he froze nearly immediately as the pain renewed and magnified. Lights swept across the ground, reflecting off metals, and nearly blinding him. He closed his eyes involuntarily, though immediately regretted it when he reopened them.

Blackness blurred around the edges, threatening to swallow him. If Ziva was still conscious - still breathing - still _alive -_ he might've fought it, but now… there was no point, was there?

But maybe… a flash of silver and a not-quite-distinguishable yell caught his attention. He tried to frown but failed miserably, choosing to give up and force his attention on the silver. Could it really be Gibbs? Or was he hallucinating? The figure slowly drew closer, the yell more frantic (yet still, he couldn't make out the words), until it was on the floor beside him, crouching in the little space there was.

The man (_Gibbs? Boss?_) was trying to speak to him; that much he could make out, but he was no expert in lip reading. His senses were muting themselves, forcing him to feel as though he was being held underwater. Certainly it was not a good place to be. Though he was despairingly attempting to make out the person's words, or even the meaning of the frantic movements accompanying those words, nothing was working for him.

How did life fade so quickly? Had he _really_ been relying so much on Ziva? Was that even possible? To put one's life entirely in another's hands, and to lose hope so quickly? To feel as though all sounds in the world had been turned off in just seconds?

"_Boss_?" he muttered, blinking desperately in attempt to make out the image. The silver hair was like a beacon of light, dancing at the edge of his vision. It was a promise, he decided. But what could hair promise in a deadly situation? Hope, maybe, but hope hadn't saved Ziva.

Hope would surely not save him.

In a last ditch effort, he drew a deep breath, opened his green eyes wide, and stared right into Gibbs's. If it was a hallucination, so be it - as long as he got his words out.

The moment he opened his mouth, it became clear that there was no way of vocalizing his thoughts. Even if he could arrange them into proper sentences, he was running out of time, and his mouth refused to work to his advantage. Instead, he closed it, and slowly lifted a hand, grasping for his mentor.

It was dramatic, he decided. Dramatic enough for him.

His hand just dusted Gibbs's before the blackness fell upon him, claiming his senses. _Finally._ He could sleep. If anything, he needed sleep… and the darkness was so tempting… Finally, he could rest. Maybe he'd see Ziva. Maybe not.

Maybe he'd wake. Perhaps not.

Still, only one word stuck in his mind.

_Finally._

* * *

_A beacon of light, a__ sign of hope;_

_Too late…_

_But then, it was always too late_

_For them._

**A/N: I know it's short but I hope you don't mind. :p**


	9. Where Was He?

**A/N: I lied. There's one more chapter after this. This one is a lot different from other chapters in Fear but I hope you'll like it. I don't own NCIS, but please enjoy.**

"She's a miracle, absolutely astounding."

"Completely unheard of."

"She was definitely lucky."

"This was more than luck, you know. The average human can't put up with so much trauma and, well, survive."

"How did she survive, anyway? What's so special about her?"

"I'm not sure. Her boss said something about Mossad training tactics, but I'm not positive that that would even be enough."

"Then what is it?"

"I guess we'll never know."

Words - pictures - danced around the edges of her mind, taunting her. She would only just begin to grasp the margins of clarification and consciousness when it would slip away from her. For the most part, she would sit in the regions between wakefulness and what seemed to be a coma. Speech would occasionally filter into her world, and she loved it - absolutely loved it.

But there _was_ one voice she was missing.

Most of the voices were entirely unknown to her. Even if she'd known the owner, it was nearly impossible to make the connection. Still, she was sure that she'd recognize his voice the moment he would speak to her. And yet… she hadn't heard anything, not a word, from the one person she was seeking.

She could see him in her mind: the way he'd been before the _incident_, whatever that event happened to be. She could only recall small pieces of information, short snapshots that replayed themselves in her mind, over and over. Often, the information would leave as quickly as it presented itself, but she could never forget one detail: Him. Soaked in blood.

Was she blood-soaked, too? Injured? Damaged? It didn't matter, not really. There was no pain in her world. Of all things, she was numb - floating, waiting for him.

How many days had passed? She wondered this silently (was there any other way in a comatose state?) as minutes dragged into hours and hours dragged into days. Or was it only seconds? Nothing made sense, she'd long since decided. The only thing to do was simple: listen to what she could hear of the outside world, fight for consciousness, and try to piece together the partial information.

Not that it was easy.

* * *

"She's getting stronger."

"She's always been strong."

A pause - was her hearing gone already? "She's changed over the years…"

"Yeah. Anthony was always a good influence on her."

_Anthony._ _Tony._ The name stuck in her mind, stuck itself to the face she'd been seeing for the last however long, the voice she'd been yearning to hear. So it was Tony she was missing. The name seemed to fit, after all… But, why were they talking about him that way? Why wasn't _he_ talking to her?

"Poor man. She never really let him know that, did she?"

"I think he guessed that she changed, Duck." _Duck._ Who was that? Recognition tingled at the back of her mind, but she couldn't place a face to the name or voice.

"I meant that she knew. Because she did, Jethro. She knew he was good for her." _Jethro._ Another name. This one brought a snapshot into her mind, but it was gone too quickly for her to truly grasp it. She groped desperately for the picture, trying to bring it back, but, when it proved impossible, she instead focussed on reality and attempted to crawl her way to the surface.

Blackness lightened into a dark grey and she wondered if it was a good sign. Perhaps bright lights were on? Or maybe… maybe…

"She's moving. Jethro, she's moving. Call the nurse!"

Was that good news? It had to be… she could barely feel her own limbs, but if they were _moving,_ then maybe… She attempted to smile, though she couldn't be sure if her own muscles were complying. The blackness started to blur itself away, and snatches of colors and lights filtered through. Suddenly, that light became blinding and she shut her eyes as quickly as they opened, but not before realizing - she'd made it, hadn't she?

"She's blinking! Oh, my God, Ziva! _Ziva!_"

Some limbs were incredibly numb but she was beginning to get a handle on her senses. She felt alive again - it was absolutely _incredible!_

Unfortunately, with wakefulness came pain, and it hit her _hard._ She briefly wondered if she'd been given any pain killers… Maybe not, because, as quickly as she was regaining consciousness, it was shrinking away from her. Oh God, oh God… she was losing it again… the incredible feeling was already dispersing, and the excited yells turned frantic.

"Call the nurse… call the nurse! She's out again… She's…"

And the words were gone.

She was back in a word of numbness and nothingness, floating…

She'd made it back, just to slip away again… and he hadn't been there, he _hadn't_ been there in the brief second she'd actually seen the world.

So then... where was he?

* * *

_How could he leave her_

_In a world so lonely, so cold?_

_Didn't he see - she needed him;_

_Needed him more than water… air._

_Without him, there was nothing._

_Where was he?_

**A/N: Hmm. I think this is shorter than normal. Oops.**


	10. Fight

**A/N: Last chapter (finally). I may write an alternative ending but we'll see. The point is, please enjoy the concluding chapter to Fear. :) I don't own NCIS.**

Through hours and days and weeks, she fought, and she fought _hard._ Reality once again evaded her, disallowing her the luxury of consciousness and the real world. It was unpleasant, to say the least; she was suspended, not moving forward nor backwards in her attempts to wake. It wasn't as if she didn't want to - rather, her body refused to comply.

Often, she was left alone with her thoughts. It didn't take a genius to realize she was getting less and less visitors. From the words that filtered into her world, those visitors were losing hope. This only forced her to _really_ consider just how long she'd been insensate, lethargic. Still, she forced herself to have faith; from what she could grasp of the bits of memory left, there were people out there that cared for her. Surely, if they _actually_ cared, they'd fight as hard as she to keep her alive, right?

It was taking more and more willpower to believe that.

Deep down, she knew it would help if she heard _his _voice. She was occasionally comforted by the voice of the man she identified as Jethro (somehow the name seemed off, but it was all she had to go off of), but _Jethro_ was not _Tony._ Somehow, Tony meant more to her. She felt as though there was something she had to tell him, but she'd forgotten exactly what that was.

It was incredibly frustrating, to say the least. All of it was. Unable to release the frustration, it was simply building up, replaying itself in her mind, a constant reminder that, despite the existence of an outside world, she was completely and utterly alone. Voices did nothing to calm this feeling. While she was thrilled to hear actual words from what she guessed were actual _people, _it was quickly becoming insufficient.

Maybe this feeling was a good thing, she reasoned; it forced her to fight harder, didn't it? And boy did she fight. She'd often heard phrases like, "She's a fighter, that one," or, "She's strong, she'll pull through," and wondered if she truly was a warrior in the real world. The voices certainly dramatized her combative skills - if only they knew just how hard she was fighting now…

* * *

Twenty days into an ever-lasting coma, things changed. Even the air seemed to shift around her. She couldn't pinpoint exactly what caused the tension, but it was _bad._ It was as if she'd lost a part of her heart; somehow, it felt missing, no longer suspended with her, no longer _real._ It absolutely terrified her.

She'd always had good instincts; it was a key part of her success as a Mossad officer, and she'd utilized it quite a few times over the years, as a tool to save herself or an early-warning system. Most people learned to suppress their instincts to the point that the uneasy feelings were almost non-existent or easily ignorable, but she was different. Her father had pushed her to listen to those feelings, to nurture them, but also to learn when to disregard them.

Now, she'd been taught, was _not_ the time to disregard. Now was the time to analyze. But how could she do so when she was alone in a darkened, deadened world? Her only hope would be dialogue, and she hadn't heard a spoken word in three days. She wasn't dying, was she? No, that wasn't possible; the thought hardly frightened her, while this feeling was absolutely _terrifying._

Her saviour came in the form of data hours into that twentieth day. Though it was really no saviour at all; her friends would often look back on this day and remember the absolute horror that had crossed her features upon overhearing their words. It had started innocent enough, and the words had escalated into the doomed phrases they'd never wanted to acknowledge or speak around her.

"Jethro, is she doing alright?"

"Yeah, Duck, she seems okay." The voices were strangely strangled, quieter than normal. It only increased her uneasiness and fear, the overwhelming feeling that something was terribly wrong_._

"The doctors say she's doing relatively well. They didn't expect her to survive."

A pause, and then a bitter, "Maybe not, but _he _was supposed to live… they said he'd live, Duck. So why didn't he?"

"Maybe… maybe he thought she was gone," the words were nearly inaudible, so quiet that she'd strained to hear them. The full meaning of the conversation hadn't struck her yet, but the atrocious sensation was still building; it would reach the climax soon, she realized, and that only frightened her more.

"She wasn't breathing when we found them… So, maybe…"

"She's going to be devastated, Jethro."

"Can she hear us, Duck?"

"Maybe. It's hard to tell. Occasionally comatose people may hear things from the outside world but they don't always hear everything."

"So then… she doesn't know yet." It was really dawning on her now; her heart felt as though it was beginning to freeze. They couldn't be saying - couldn't be implying what she thought they were, right? He had to wait for her, he _had_ to be there, she had to hear him -

"She'll find out when she wakes up…"

"I can't believe he's dead, Jethro. I-I thought he'd hang on for her… I thought he'd…"

Audio cut itself off just then but the effect of the words had already hit her. Her breathing became ragged and her mind was filled with nothing but _screaming; _her screams, his screams, hers, his… She'd hung on for him, hadn't she? Why had he left her? How could _any_ of this have happened, after all they'd lived through?

Outside her body, she was being watched by two very alarmed men. One of the two was desperately signalling the nurse, the other talking in a muted voice she couldn't make out. Her face was a mask of absolute terror. A whimper escaped her mouth. If she was terrified, they were doubly so; how could such careless words have that effect on the girl? She was supposed to be strong, she was supposed to carry on…

But they'd forgotten the age old rule, hadn't they? They'd been careless in their words, assuming she couldn't hear them, and… they'd pay the price then, wouldn't they? Her panic, her ragged breathing, all of it was turning into an impossible situation. If they couldn't calm her down, things could be catastrophic… She could die with him, then.

She was not long for this world, they'd soon realized, not without him.

Because he'd died, they said; he'd died three hours earlier.

Without him - without her hope, her light, her love, without everything _him_ and everything _not_ him - she stopped the fight. Without hesitation, she laid down arms, drew her last breath, and let the world fade away.

There was no use fighting now…

She'd see him on the other side.

_Where is he?_

* * *

_They'd come so close to the love they'd wanted,_

_The life they'd always yearned for_

_But the universe was not on their side,_

_They said; they were never destined to be together,_

_Kept apart by fear._

_Rest in Peace, their tombstones read._

_Love conquers fear and fear conquers the fight._

_Once he'd left her, alone, love perished with him;_

_Fear returned, fight died,_

_And ultimately,_

_Fear won._

**A/N: My apologies if the medical side of this isn't completely correct. I spent a while attempting to find out if it was possible to react and die during a coma in this sort of situation but, because giving up hope/stopping the fight is an internal decision, I really didn't get much for results.**


	11. ALTERNATE Ending

**A/N: Please note: this is an ALTERNATE ENDING. I prefer the original death-ish sort of thing, but this is the original way I planned for the story to end. Of course, I tend to get morbid and prefer the "beautifully tragic" way of writing, but this works too. For all of you reading this: I hope you enjoy.**

**Thank you to everyone for the support and reviews! Special thanks to Grande; I would never have finished this without you. Now, I don't own NCIS, and get reading! :)**

"She's been comatose a long time, Duck. They're talking about…"

"I know, Jethro, but we have to be strong. She'll pull through."

"I know."

A heartbeat passed before a new voice cautiously asked, "But why would they talk about… y'know… if she's not brain dead?"

"Don't start thinking like that, Tim. She's been through worse."

"What's worse than this?"

"You've seen the scars. You tell me."

"Yes, but _why_ is she taking so long to wake up?"

"We could ask the same question of Anthony."

"…you can't ask a comatose guy _anything,_ Duck."

"Well, you can try. It's always best to assume that people in a coma can hear everything you say. In fact, Ziva may be listening to us right now."

The voices were bouncing around her mind, blurring together. Fortunately, the words were decipherable, but, when no names were used, she was having trouble sorting out the owner of each voice. Her mind had become confused over the time it had spent shut down, and she'd grown frustrated with it, but there was simply nothing she could do; no way to respond, no way to reach the consciousness she desperately wanted.

It was hard to determine what it would take to get her out of the coma. At least, that's what she'd heard one day - she couldn't be sure how long ago that had been. Apparently she'd suffered both physical and psychological trauma, though she could not attest to either, as her mind worked sluggishly slow and her limbs were deadened, refusing to respond to any of her attempts to move.

Since the incident, she'd been in this dreamlike state. It was as though her eyes were open but the world had shut her out, giving her only the luxury of audio. Dealing with this was becoming increasingly frustrating, as she could only pick up snatches of conversations, and any possible response would die before it even touched her lips.

Essentially, she was alone.

However, this was not what bothered her the most. She'd been impatiently waiting to hear one voice - Tony's - and she had yet to. From the small snapshots of memories, she was aware that he was likely in a condition much like hers, though perhaps worse. She'd started to force herself away from any thoughts about him, as anxiety had started to build with each second he wasn't talking.

It was far too bad she wasn't telepathic; God knew she'd tried talking to him that way, but he'd never answered.

Searching for him was incredibly useless as well. If she couldn't move, couldn't see, then how was she to find him? Sound alone would be her only saviour, and he was certainly holding out on her.

_Where is he?_

* * *

"Ducky, y'know how you said she could hear what we say, right?"

"Yes, Timothy, she should be able to. That's why most people take to reading books to their loved ones or holding one-sided conversations; it's both a comfort to themselves and a-"

"I _know_. Abby's been reading to her lately. But that wasn't the point... Can talking to her trigger her waking up?"

"Unlikely, but I suppose it's possible… I've been informed that she's healed relatively well. Her mind shouldn't be keeping her body shut down at this point - she's well out of the woods. She'll live!"

"Then… _why _is she still in a coma?"

A pause. "I can't say for sure, Timothy, but she must've undergone psychological trauma. Perhaps she's afraid of something and it's keeping her in this state."

"How do we get her out?"

"I don't know, Timothy, but, if it makes you feel better, talk to her."

"Ziva?" Tim rolled his eyes at himself; obviously she wouldn't respond. He was putting too high of a hope on this. "Ziva, Tony's alive. Tony's _alive._"

_Where is he?_

* * *

"Ziva."

_Oh, my God, oh, my God - it's him - he's - he's - wish I could say - Oh, my God -_

"Zee. You gotta wake up from this, okay?" The man's voice cracked. "I know what it's like. I was so sure you died on me. Tim kept telling me you were alive, but I couldn't believe him. I couldn't. But I guess my body eventually did because, look, I'm here."

He began to sob, his sentences breaking up. "I know you went through a lot, but you gotta pull out of this, okay? I need to see you again. I mean, see you like talk to you… Open your eyes, please. We have a lot to talk about when you wake up.

But until then, let me say something, okay? I-I think I might just love you, Ziva."

* * *

_Three months later_

He sat alone in his apartment, staring at the wall. Since returning home from the hospital, he'd been giving strict guidelines to follow, most of which disallowed him from doing anything interesting. He'd spend his time with _her,_ but the nurses and doctors had banned him from coming the last few nights as he'd taken to practically living in the hospital. It wasn't good for him, they said. They'd call when she woke up, they said, but none of it was good enough for him.

It had (surprisingly) taking three security guards to get him out the door, as well as Gibbs, Ducky, _and_ McGee to get him home.

Beside him, a sharp chirp sounded, echoing around the room. He stared at the source of the noise - his phone - and debated whether or not it was worth answering. It could be anything: an annoying call from Abby with useless chatter, Gibbs checking up on him, Ducky wanting to recount stories of the old days… or it could be news on _her._

At the last thought, he lunged for it, ignoring the screaming pain up his side. Hastily, he accepted the call and pushed it up against his ear. His voice was rough when he declared, "DiNozzo here."

"_Tony!_" It was Gibbs's voice. Inwardly, he groaned, but refrained from pressing the "end call" button.

"Tony, Ducky will be over to pick you up in five minutes."

_Sigh._ "Why, Gibbs?"

"She's awake! DiNozzo, she's _awake!_"

* * *

_Life had been nothing before;_

_Taken for granted in the fast lane,_

_But all it took was her blood, her tears,_

_Her near-death_

_To change his world._

**A/N: You decide what happens now. :P Hope that was happy enough for those of you who like happy endings. I still like the morbid version more, but hey… this works too.**


End file.
